


Where a Heart Would Fit Perfectly

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Image, Chubby Aziraphale, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Inspired by Art, M/M, Self Confidence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Aziraphale shrugged and gestured for Crowley to sit down, “I’ve come back from the battlefield; no need for all that muscle anymore.”“You’ve gone a bit in the other direction, though, haven’t you?” Crowley said conversationally as he took a seat and flagged someone down for a drink. “You’re a bit… pudgy.”In 600 BCE Assyria, two man-shaped beings meet up after a long absence.





	Where a Heart Would Fit Perfectly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HSavinien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/gifts).



> “He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chest / where a heart would fit perfectly / and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place— / well then, game over.” –Richard Siken, Road Music

Aziraphale took another sip of his drink and leaned back in his seat, staring out over the crowds in the street with narrowed eyes. He was waiting for someone while trying to look like he wasn’t at all, and it wasn’t working. It was a bright, hot, sunny day and the throng of people in Kalhu all looked the same to the angel, and he was starting to wonder if he and Crowley had just missed each other. 

It had been a number of years and a new corporation for Aziraphale since they’d last been together. Aziraphale had been out on campaign with the Assyrian army until fairly recently, and he wasn’t sure what Crowley had been up to. He could be in a new body, too, for all Aziraphale knew. Or he could just be running late. 

Aziraphale was debating ordering another drink, or maybe one of those date cakes, when somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he jerked and turned around. 

“That’s a new look for you,” Crowley said, his tone a warm drawl as his eyes travelled up and down the angel’s body. Aziraphale blushed. 

“Yes, well,” he shrugged and gestured for Crowley to sit down, “I’ve come back from the battlefield; no need for all that muscle anymore.” 

“You’ve gone a bit in the other direction, though, haven’t you?” Crowley said conversationally as he took a seat and flagged someone down for a drink. “You’re a bit… pudgy.” 

Aziraphale bristled and Crowley patted his hand where it was sitting on the table. “Don’t look like that, it’s a very nice look on you. Just… strange.” 

“How so?” Aziraphale asked, nodding to the young woman who’d dropped off Crowley’s drink at their table and was now glaring at Crowley until he fished a coin out of his pocket to pay for it. 

Crowley took a sip of his drink and continued to look at Aziraphale, his expression pensive. “It’s pretty far removed from that Guardian of the Eastern Gate vibe, that’s all.” Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling, ridiculously, like Crowley was looking right though him. “Very non-threatening.”

Aziraphale hummed and cast about for a change of topic. “What have you been up to? Have you been in the city for very long?” 

“For a while, yeah. I’ve been keeping an eye on the palace construction. Did you know your king is having reliefs put up in  _every room?”_  

“He’s not my king,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “I’ve been fighting this war because I was told to by Heaven.” 

“Yeah, and what’s their rationale there?” Crowley said, a touch bitterly. “Ashurnasirpal is a conqueror and a tyrant.” 

“Not really,” Aziraphale replied coolly. “A conqueror, yes, but he’s a good and fair leader to his own people.” 

“Not to the slaves who are working on the palace, I can promise you that,” Crowley snorted. “I’ve been listening to them complain for days.” 

“About what?” 

“He keeps having them redo this panel in the library, of— well, actually, it might be better to just show you.” Crowley said, looking very grim for a moment. It startled Aziraphale, and then it was gone, replaced by a broad, easy grin as Crowley stood up and gestured for Aziraphale to do the same. 

They walked through the narrow streets of the city together, Crowley keeping a hand on Aziraphale’s wrist so they wouldn’t be separated by the crowd. He pulled him along, out of the neighborhood Aziraphale had been staying in, down side streets and towards the newer part of the city. Kalhu was an old, old place, and it was only because of the king’s decision to make it the new capital and build his palace and library here that it was so heavily populated now. There had been an influx of people to the city, yes, but there had also been an influx of culture. Art, music, literature… King Ashurnasirpal was first and foremost a collector.

And what a collection he was building, Aziraphale thought with a gasp, as they rounded a corner and looked up at the palace with its adjacent library. Vast slabs of stone cut an impressive monument against the sky. Winged lions, fifteen feet tall, flanked the entrance. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale with a grin. 

“I’d have thought you’d have come to see the construction before now,” Crowley murmured, giving his wrist a small squeeze. “This is your kind of thing, angel.” 

“Is it?” Aziraphale said offhandedly, looking back up at the building. There was a space over the entrance where a bit of stone was still missing; Aziraphale guessed there was going to be an inscription there when it was all finished. 

“Yeah. The library, the art,” His tone grew more flippant, “the spoils of war.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Aziraphale said, tugging his hand free from Crowley’s grasp. “My opinions on the things Heaven asks of me matter very little, in the grand scheme of things, and your opinions about what I do matter even less.” 

Crowley blinked, then shrugged, turning back to look at the palace before slinking forward. He gestured over his shoulder for Aziraphale to follow him. “Come on, there’s something in here I think you need to see.” 

Aziraphale followed Crowley through the antechamber and into the main room of the library and felt a huge smile split his face as he looked around. There must be thousands of cuneiform tablets in here, Aziraphale thought as he looked at the high ceiling and the rows upon rows of shelves, most of them empty, unfortunately, but then the construction wasn’t done and it would be a bit silly for the room to be full. Aziraphale stepped towards the few filled shelves and picked up the tablets there reverently, scanning through the text and smiling again. 

“Crowley, it’s Gilgamesh.” He’d forgotten the demon was there for a moment, caught up in this wonderful room, but he gestured for him to come look now. Crowley came to stand beside him and peered over his shoulder. 

“This isn’t Gilgamesh, angel, when have you ever seen that epithet for Enkidu?” he said, eyeing the tablet with mild interest. 

“Yes, well, I suspect it’s a different version than what you’ve read or heard before,” Aziraphale said, excited. “The king has been having copies made of all the literature from the lands he’s conquering, it wouldn’t surprise me if…” He trailed off, something catching up to him, “…if this was one of those.” He finished, somewhat less enthusiastically than he’d begun. He set the tablet back down. 

Crowley was giving him that look again, the look that made Aziraphale feel oddly transparent. “Was this what you wanted me to see?” he asked, and Crowley’s expression shifted. 

“No, that’s in the next room. C’mon.” 

They made their way through the rows of empty, waiting shelves and went into another chamber, where a number of men were working installing the latest in a line of reliefs, fixing the alabaster to the wall. Aziraphale stared. 

“That’s…” 

“I know.” Crowley said, nodding. They stood side by side, staring at the images. 

The art in this room was devoted to the story of the Seven Sages, the apkallu, demi-gods who came from the heavens and brought knowledge to mankind after the flood. Many of them were depicted with the heads of animals, fish, birds—but there was one who was clearly a man in all respects except for the wings. 

Aziraphale stared at it.

Six wings. 

In another place, just out of sight, Aziraphale flexed muscles that hadn’t been used with this body yet, brushing feathers against each other. Six wings. 

Crowley looked smug. 

“Do you know who put these together?” he asked Crowley. “You said you’ve been friendly with the workers.” 

Crowley waved his hand. “The head artist Eliya told me the specifics of the reliefs came down from Ashurnasirpal himself. You might have a fan, angel.” The tightness around his eyes belied his casual tone, and Aziraphale shot him a look which made him hunch his shoulders. 

“I’ve told you. He isn’t my king. This is just a  _job,_  Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He had no idea why this was so important to him, why he wanted Crowley to understand, unless it was to make him look at him less like he was judging him. Which one of them was the demon? Aziraphale was meant to judge Crowley, not the other way around. It was very disheartening and a little irritating. 

“Mhm, a job where you help a brutal warrior by—what was that?” Crowley interrupted himself, his eyes going wide as he looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“What was what?” Aziraphale made to turn around and Crowley took hold of his shoulders and pushed him into a smaller room, closing the heavy door behind them with a snap of his finger. 

“What on Earth—” Crowley cut him off with a hand over his mouth, looking back at the door with narrowed eyes that glowed in the dim light. 

“Eliya. That was Eliya’s voice. Probably come to check on the progress of the reliefs.” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale blinked. 

“And we are hiding in a—" Aziraphale looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time, “—scribe’s office because…?” 

“Because I don’t want him to see me, obviously, angel.” Crowley said, rolling his eyes and looking back at Aziraphale. “How do you think I got popular enough around here that I was able to bring you in without somebody stopping us? By getting friendly with the art director.” 

Aziraphale felt something unpleasantly like jealousy swirling inside him as the implication behind Crowley’s words caught up with him, and he suddenly wished the demon would take his hand off his chest. As soon as he did, Aziraphale wished he would put it back. 

“How long do you think we’ll have to stay in here?” he asked as quietly as he could without whispering. 

Crowley shrugged. “Could be hours. When they were putting up the reliefs with the date trees in the dining room Eliya oversaw the whole thing. Took about three days altogether and he never went home once. Slept on the floor in the corner and told them to wake him if there was any problem.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “So, we could be here a while.” 

Crowley turned back to him, a small, faintly mischievous on his face. “We could,” he agreed. 

Crowley’s eyes were roving over him again, and Aziraphale really  _looked_  at Crowley for the first time since they’d met up a few hours ago. His hair was longer than usual, and his nails shorter, and both were a shade darker than his warm, rich skin. He was always beautiful, but this body was an effortless sort of beautiful, very different from the polished appearance he usually presented. 

“Whatever shall we do about it?” Aziraphale murmured as Crowley took a tiny step closer. 

“I don’t know, angel, what would you like to do?” Crowley said. His odd forked tongue flickered out and wet his lips, and Aziraphale felt a jolt in his stomach. 

“I think…” Aziraphale began, hesitating, stepping forward and letting a hand slide up Crowley’s waist to rest on the small of his back, “I think I’ve missed you.” 

Crowley let out a breath that Aziraphale thought he could hear his name in, and then they were kissing, and it was like finding something you’d put away for safe keeping and then forgotten about, like uncovering a gift you’d left for yourself. Oh, he’d missed this, he’d missed the way Crowley shivered under his touch and the way his hands wound themselves into Aziraphale’s hair. The way his sharp teeth tugged at Aziraphale’s lip and his forked tongue slid into his mouth like it belonged there. 

There was a harsh noise in the room outside and Aziraphale, still all instinct from the last corporation spent at war, unfurled his wings and wrapped them around the two of them, cocooning them in alabaster feathers, so similar to the relief in the other room even as everything else was different. White feathers fanning out from dark skin, soft stomach and hips and thighs, smooth cheeks and a face like… well, like someone who would look at home in a library. Not like a demi-god, not like an angel. Just human.   
  


Crowley seemed fond of his new body, at any rate. 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I combined two Assyrian kings into one character and the two locations associated with them as well because they have very similar names and lived about 100 years apart and this was inconvenient for what I wanted to do with this story. The palace Aziraphale and Crowley visit was built for Ashurnasirpal II in 879 BC. The library was put together by Ashur _banipal_ in the 600s BC.
> 
> Here is the ancient artwork this fic was based around on the website of the museum where I first saw it and began learning about this period of history: https://collections.artsmia.org/art/611/winged-genius-assyrian


End file.
